Mr Monk Gets His Mail
by SuperMonkFreak
Summary: This is my first Monk story. I hope you like it! The only clue you get until you read it is the title! I've canceled the five review thing!
1. Mr Monk Organizes His Clean

I updated chapters one and two. All Monk characters in this story are not owned by me. I have no authority over them. Other characters _are_ mine, though.

* * *

CHAPTER ONE

MR. MONK ORGANIZES HIS CLEAN

So, who am I? I am Natalie Teeger, former bartender. I know, my life _is_ amazing! But seriously, I do get my kicks. I work for Adrian Monk, who quite possibly could be the greatest detective of all time! But, the bad part is: He has OCD. And, all I really have to do is hand him _Wet Ones Wipes_, bottles of _Sierra Springs_, and drive him. But wait! There's more! I get paid less then a kid's weekly allowance! How do I live like this? I ask myself this every morning, but do I have an answer? No.

All right, so how is it that I get my kicks from that? I don't. I lied. Well, can you blame me? You barely know anything about me, but I can tell you're felling sorry for me. Well, if you are sorry now, just wait till I tell you this.

My husband, Mitch, died in Kosovo on a mission. People say he was a coward, and ran away from his men, but I know in my heart of hearts, that is not true. So now I am forced to take care of my twelve-year-old daughter, Julie. Now you _have_ to be sorry. Well, don't be. I hate all that pity stuff. If anyone, be sorry for my boss. (In case you have the mind of a peanut, his name is Adrian Monk.) A while back, his wife, Trudy, was killed in a car bomb explosion. And because of that his phobias and OCD went into complete overload, which cost him his job on the SFPD.

Now, he is a private consultant to the police Department, called in constantly by his friend Captain Leland Stottlemeyer and Lieutenant Randy Disher. But his only real goals in life are to solve his deceased wife's murder, and regain his badge and rightful spot on the SFPD. (Oh, and destroy all germs on this planet. (And the next.))

* * *

It was Saturday, Julie was off with some poor, unsuspecting mother at a sleepover party doing God knows what with her friends. I was curled up on my couch reading a book when my cell rang, and whadaya know, It was Captain Stottlemeyer, again...

"Is Monk with you?" He asked

"Excuse me? It's eleven PM, why would he be with me?" I said.

"Sorry, Natalie, I'm just really aggravated about this new case."

"At this hour?"

"Hey! Crime stops for no man!" He had me there. I asked for the address and said Mr. Monk would be there shortly.

When I reached his apartment, I found that he was still up. He was organizing his new cleaning products.

"What are you doing here at this hour, Natalie?" He said.

"And a hello to you to Mr. Monk. Stottlemeyer needs your assistance on a new case. Now hurry up and follow me."

"Just a minute, let me finish."

"No, we have to go now. I'm getting tired and the sooner we get this over the better!" He started to put a _Lysol_ can left of a _Windex_ bottle. Probably because they were both yellow and in alphabetical order. Oh God! I'm starting to think like him!

"Finished!" He said after about fifteen minutes.

"Please tell me you're not jo- Oh, right. Now come on we're late!" I said. We walked outside to my Jeep, and drove off to the horizon of yet another murder.


	2. Mr Monk and the Bloody Package

CHAPTER TWO

MR. MONK AND THE BLOODY PACKAGE

We arrived at the crime scene in less than fifteen minutes. Stottlemeyer was there to greet us, but his tone sounded otherwise.

"I am so glad you're here! Follow me." He said in that tone I mentioned earlier. He walked to a circle of policemen looking down on the body. Mr. Monk and I joined him, but what we found wasn't a body, it was a mailbox. I'm not kidding.

"Uh, Leland, I think you're confused, this is a mailbox, you can't kill a mailbox." Monk said.

"Adrian, why don't you take a look inside the mailbox." Monk gently pulled down on the lid. And what do you think was in there? A head. Eyes rolled back, staring straight at us, mouth wide agape. In all my time working with Monk I had never seen anything so demented and hideous.

"Wi-Oh, thanks." I knew he was going to say that. I always carry wipes, water, and little baggies in my old baby bag. The only thing different now, is that instead of diapers, I carry water.

"Oh my God." I said to Stottlemeyer, "Where is the rest of him?"

"That's the thing, we don't know. His name is Henry Stetson, age 47. We have searched everywhere, but we have no clue where the body is. This is his house, so we're guessing that about seven he came home and checked the mail. Someone came from behind him, cut off his head, and stuffed it in here."

"Who found him?" Monk asked.

"His daughter, Serena," He looked to an eighteen-year-old girl sitting on a lawn chair crying. We followed his gaze. "She came home from her job at a restaurant, and didn't see her dad's car, so she checked the mail. And, I don't think she got a letter."

"Where is her mother?" I asked.

"Oh, somewhere in India on a trip with her friends." He replied.

"This doesn't make sense." Monk said. Here we go again.

"What doesn't?" Stottlemeyer asked.

"The mail here arrives in the morning. About seven AM. Why would either of them check it later in the day?"

"Well, maybe they went to work early. You know the mail times?"

"Of course! I have a list for each neighborhood in San Francisco. I have to make sure that they are all one hour apart, going through each neighborhood in a clockwise manner. Maybe he did, but she wouldn't work a shift that long. You said that he was killed four hours ago. When did she call?"

"'Bout an hour ago." He looked to me, "Sorry I asked. Ha!"

"Why would she work from seven or earlier to ten? No, she had to have been here."

"Well why don't you ask her yourself." Stottlemeyer said. We trotted over to her.

"Excuse us, Serena?" I said.

"Yes?" She sniffled. Monk cringed.

"We want to know how long your work hours are and where you were this morning before seven to the time you go to work." Monk said holding a wipe to his nose.

"I work from twelve to eight, and I spent last night at my boyfriends house until I left for work."

"Where were you from eight to ten then?"

"I went to see a movie with my boyfriend. _Untraceable_."

"What is your boyfriend's name?" Monk asked.

"Corey Hantus."

"What are your father's hours?"

"He works-I mean worked-from six to a quarter to seven."

"Thank you." Monk turned to leave and I followed.

"Did she do it?" I asked Monk.

"No." He said, "When you get to my house tomorrow, we're going to see this Corey Hantus."


	3. Mr Monk Meets His Milk

CHAPTER THREE

MR. MONK MEETS HIS MILK

When I got to Monk's apartment the next day, he was sitting in the back corner watching the door, eyes wide open.

"What's wrong?" I asked.

"Th-th-the m-m-milk!" He spat out. Monk is completely afraid of milk. He says that 'It's bodily fluid.' and that 'You don't drink bodily fluids.'

"What? What milk?" I said.

"Ke-Kevin! He sp-spilled mi-milk i-in fr-front of-of my d-d-door."

"I didn't see anything. He probably cleaned it up already."

"But the germs, the essence is still there! I can never leave this place again! I just know he didn't clean it right!"

"Mr. Monk! It's fine! Just, leap over where it was."

"It's probably airborne! You're probably carrying it! Oh God, why me? Why me?"

"Monk! Get over it! Now let's go!" I gripped his arm and dragged him out the door. He's stronger than he looks. But, we finally made it out.

* * *

Corey Hantus was a thin, buff, twenty-one-year-old. He had blonde hair with thin, brown highlights. He looked like one of those male models. Lucky Serena. Now, I know that's being a little mean, but you haven't seen this guy. Well, enough of that.

"Corey Hantus?" Monk said. Corey's hand went out and Monk reluctantly did the same. After they shook Monk took the wipe I had and thoroughly scrubbed his hand. Hantus looked at me puzzled and I mouthed sorry.

"Yes. Is this because of Serena's dad? I mean, we didn't like each other, but I didn't kill him! I was here with Serena! You can ask her!"

"We know." I said, "We're just here to make sure."

"What's this?" Monk asked, pointing to a small bottle on a desk.

"Oh, that's just invisible ink. My nephew comes here all the time and he likes to play with it."

"How old is he?" I asked.

"Four. He really loves it here. He always brings his toys. Ha!"

"Invisible ink? I can see it." Monk said.

"Well, you can see it at first. But when it goes on paper like this," Corey took a feather and dipped it in the vial. He started to write his name on a piece of paper. "It disappears. To see it you have to put it in an oven for a few seconds." He took the paper over to his kitchen, leaving us a few moments to talk.

"What do you think?" I asked.

"He didn't do it." Monk whispered.

"Then do you know who did yet?"

"No." At that moment Hantus came in and showed monk the paper with his name.

"Wow. That's amazing!" Monk said. I couldn't believe he'd never heard of invisible ink before. It's a common gag. But, then again, he's Monk.

"Well, I think we're about done here." I said, "Mr. Monk, is there anything else you want to ask him?"

"Yes, where can I buy this stuff?"

"Oh, this wasn't bought. It was homemade. I make it for my nephew all the time. I can give you the recipe. The main ingredient is milk-" That's all he had to say.

"MILK!!!??? Oh my God! Natalie, call the cops! We have to alert him to the authorities! You are a sick, sick disgusting man!" He went on like this for a few more minutes until I finally got him to stop. I apologized and rushed Monk out.

"Mr. Monk!" I said disgusted, "He was a sweet man! Why did you go off like that? That was totally selfish!"

"Th-the milk! I'm going to have nightmares for weeks!" Sometimes that man makes me so frustrated. I started to get what Stottlemeyer calls a 'Monk-ache.' We headed off to my house after that.


	4. Mr Monk Makes a Sandwich

CHAPTER FOUR

MR. MONK MAKES A SANDWICH

I pulled into my driveway, when from behind me came Julie's friend's mom's car. God! I had forgotten about Julie coming home this early! Guess I got lucky.

"Hey, Julie! So, how'd it go?" I asked when Julie jumped out.

"I had fun. Leslie even did my nails!" She held up her fingers. The nails were lime green with purple flowers. Then she took off a shoe and showed me her toenails. They matched.

I was repulsed, but I didn't want to say that, so instead I said, "Oh, honey! They're beautiful! Did you thank Leslie and her mom?"

"Yes, mom." She heavily sighed. I'm going to hate when she starts acting up and gets like that all the time. But, I was like that to my parents, so I guess I deserve it.

Mr. Monk got out of my car. "They're green." He said.

"Yes, I had them done." Julie replied.

"Yes, but they're green."

"I know."

"They're supposed to be pale pink. Not green. That's unnatural." He protested.

"Mr. Monk, it's okay. The color will wash off. It's not permanent. Didn't Trudy ever get her nails done?" I asked.

"I don't know?"

"What!? How can you not?"

"I just don't"

"You are a man who could see a stain the size of a germ, but you don't notice if your wife colors her nails!" What could I say? He's Monk… I gave up after that and so did Monk. We went inside.

"Mr. Monk, can I show you something?" Julie asked.

"Is it more discolored nails?" He asked.

"No…"

"Then okay." Julie took him to the kitchen. I wondered what she was going to show him so I followed. Julie was having him look at the refrigerator door. I guessed she was showing him her A on her recent math test. I was right.

"Wow." Monk said, "Very good!" You know, Monk doesn't like children because he says they are walking cesspools of infectious disease, but he shares their wonderment in the world. And, I believe he enjoys them. I think Julie feels the same about Monk, without the cesspool part.

"Thank you." Julie smiled and looked at me with pride. I'm glad she can be proud of herself.

"What's this?" Monk asked. He pointed to a box of books I needed to put in the mail because I sold them on _eBay_.

"Oh, that's just some old books I sold on _eBay_. I need to put them in the mail."

"But they're used. They have your germs on them. How could you do that to someone? Does the _e_ stand for 'evil'? You didn't even have the decency to organize them!" He protested.

"Mr. Monk, it's okay. They know that they are used, and not organized. That's usually how things come on _eBay_."

"Just, let me organize them."

"Ugh, fine…" He went towards the box, picked it up, and emptied the contents all over the dining table. I won't bore you with the ways he organized them, but let's just say it took twenty minutes or so.

By that time Julie said she wanted lunch so I decided that I would have her make her own lunch. Just another good thing to being a mom. You can boss your kids around. She didn't mind though, she made herself a nice sandwich with Mr. Monk helping her cut the ham into even, rectangular slices. And made it so that she put the catsup and mustard into perfect circles, as far away from each other so that they wouldn't touch. That would have been a shame if they did. Mr. Monk would have gone crazy. Well, that's not much of a shame, I guess, it's more of a pleasure. (For me.)


End file.
